


bargain day at the supermarket

by templeofshame



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, and One Punch Man and Friends, couponing au, references to food and alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-02 02:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20970200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/templeofshame/pseuds/templeofshame
Summary: Phil has a new hobby, and Dan's not sure what to make of it.





	bargain day at the supermarket

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to liza and sarah as usual.
> 
> bingo squares are premature ejaculation and tour bus... possibly curtainfic?

It all starts with _One-Punch Man_. They’re three episodes into an anime night when somehow, Saitama screaming about grocery deals touches Phil on a deeper level. Dan’s laughing too — it’s all in the timing, the monster exploding while Saitama only cares about missing a sale — and he figures the light in Phil’s eyes is along the same lines. Dan doesn’t think anything of it when Phil whines, “One more,” just cuddles in closer and lets it play.

Dan does notice Phil’s mind wandering somewhere in episode 4, but he suspects it has more to do with the fingers gently creeping under his jumper than any thoughts of grocery deals. If not at first, it doesn’t take long to be sure. Unlike Saitama, they have things that stay exciting, no matter how skilled they get. 

But somewhere in the gaps beneath Phil‘s mental sofa cushions, past where Dan can generally find his choice of primal urges, rich-kid Phil has to believe he’s getting a good deal. The best possible deal. He has a need to win at spending money — or not spending money, as the case may be — that is stirred from its slumber in episode 3, and then it has more sleepless nights than Phil does.

It just takes Dan a little while to figure it out.

*

Dan doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth when Phil starts running out to the shop, unasked. Even at times they’d usually just get groceries delivered. Phil’s always had a tendency to come back from a quick run with things that weren’t on the list, but that was marshmallows and Haribo. Toilet roll and washing-up liquid have Dan a bit suspicious. Not that he thinks Phil’s lying when he says, “It was on sale.” But there’s... something new there.

It’s in the little fumbling forms of hiding. Snapping up from his laptop a little too quickly when Dan walks into the room. Closing it when Dan comes up behind him. Angling away from him when they’re each doing their laptop things in comfortable silence. One time Dan catches a glimpse, HotUK something, but if it was porn, Phil would’ve invited him in by now.

Dan and Phil aren’t good at private shames. It’s one of Dan’s favorite things, if he’s being honest. They don’t have to understand each others’, and of course there’s teasing, but they never stay hidden for long. And they don’t stay shames long, either, once they’re out in the open. 

Maybe this isn’t shame either. Phil’s allowed to have secrets, it’s just, Dan wants to know everything about him. And what makes him eager when he leaves for the shop, and when he comes back… almost triumphant.

Tonight is the kind of good night that involves an assortment of empty takeaway boxes, extremely full bellies, and more personal space than usual. A night for lying around, and whale noises, and wondering how hard it would be to get away with never moving again. He can scroll through Twitter and Instagram just fine with only a few finger muscles, and they seem up to the task.

After a few minutes, Dan’s chuckling enough at a dog video that he texts it to Phil. Dan looks up to watch Phil watch it; instead, he sees that new, intent look on Phil’s face, and then a jolt as the text interrupts Phil’s… whatever. And for all lethargy of the evening, it seems like an unmanageable use of energy _not_ to say something.

“Phil.”

“I haven’t watched it yet.”

“Not that. You’ve been hiding something.”

Phil opens his mouth to argue, but what comes out is a mutation of the whale noises that are traditional for this kind of night. It’s so Phil Dan’s heart hurts, but he won’t be distracted by something as normal as a rush of love.

“If I put in the effort to get up and look over your shoulder, will you let me? If I move.” Dan starts to shift his weight, then collapses back onto the sofa. “Are you gonna make me move, Phil?”

Phil sighs. “You don’t have to move.”

“Send me the link?”

“Okay, but it’s not…”

Dan taps and watches HotUKDeals flood his screen.

Grocery discounts, offers, and sales.

Dan means it about not having to understand.

*

“Anything good this time? Like… possibly something we’d have bought in the Before Times?” Dan’s thinking, if there’s nothing good, Phil could just not leave the flat. He could go back to having his chest against Dan’s back, his fingers in Dan’s hair.

“Hey. Be nice.” Phil’s got shoes on now, and a denim jacket; he’s actually leaving. But that fond-eyed scolding face is one of Dan’s favorites. “I’m bringing you Ribena.” 

It’s been a while since there’s been a deal on Ribena, so that does catch Dan’s attention. Leave it to Phil to make things they used to have all the time into prizes in the grocery game. But Dan knows it’s not a given that Phil will win. Sometimes, things are out of stock, glitches get fixed, or their location has randomly higher prices. Sometimes, Phil doesn’t come home with what he set out to buy.

Today, it’s just in a different form. Ribena in cartons. Cartons, like they’re in Year 3 again.

“Phil. How old are we?”

“It’s Ribena!” Phil thrusts a quart of milk at Dan, leaving its wet outline on Dan’s jumper. “It tastes the same!”

Dan puts the milk away just to get it out of his hands, then turns back to the purple block of Ribena cartons. “Or maybe you’re gonna take me on a planetarium date. Break out the animal pelts and juice cartons, get our Ross & Rachel on?” Dan raises a suggestive eyebrow even though Phil can’t see; he’s busy trying to squeeze another box of cereal into the nonexistent space between the ones that are already there. (And somehow, Dan knows Phil will still end up stealing the Crunchy Nut Dan paid full price for.) 

When Phil gives up on his cereal efforts and turns back towards Dan, he looks more thoughtful than teased. “Planetarium’d be good. Check what’s on?” 

Dan’s stunned for a moment because, sure, date night at a planetarium might be a good call, but does that response mean Dan got the last word? It doesn’t feel like he’s won.

“But I’m drinking all the Ribena myself,” Phil says, clutching the cartons to his chest. His eyes flicker around the kitchen; Dan can tell he’s looking for somewhere that’s more his than theirs, somewhere he can put the Ribena to assert ownership over it. It ends up back on the counter, though, as Phil heads to the lounge to scan his receipt into some rebate app or other.

As soon as he’s out of the room, Dan tears the plastic open and steals a carton. Whether or not they make it to the planetarium, Ross and Rachel have given Dan a prank idea. A strategically placed juice carton at the site of their next enthusiastic makeout, an “Oh, honey, that’s okay”… Dan makes a mental note to look up how to get rid of Ribena stains. 

* 

It’s been a while since they’ve hosted game night, but it’s always a good call. They get to see Bryony and make use of the games they’ve accumulated, and they don’t even have to leave the flat. And Bryony came forewarned about the grocery situation; she’s talked to Phil enough to vouch for the way this shame, like so many others, has faded. Now they’re midway through a game of Pandemic and everything seems, well, normal. 

Cleaning the flat involved more receipts than before and the cupboards were more resistant to staying closed, but that’s all part of game-night-as-excuse-to-clean. They’ve got different snacks than Dan would’ve bought, but they have options, and Dan has to admit, it’s a bit fun to try new things, going where the deals take them. At least when Dan’s not trying to be vegan. And there’s still Haribo, because Phil is more than willing to trade compliments (under a pseudonym) for coupons. Bryony seems to be enjoying the ominously named “LOL Surprise crisps” with their glitter tattoos, so if she’s judging, she’s hiding it uncharacteristically well. It’s not like she doesn’t share her own hobbies with mostly teenage fangirls and nans, to both sides of coupon mums in age, but such things have never stopped her from judging before.

Right now, she’s occupied with an outbreak of the blue disease in Europe, and Phil’s on his phone. Not a rare occurrence; they’re all too internet-addicted to be offended by such things, and Phil likes to capture moments of game nights for IG stories. But Dan can tell from the look at Phil’s face, he’s too engrossed to be on Instagram. Dan nudges his leg under the table.

“Guys, there’s another outbreak! Is it really the time for footsie?” Bryony teases.

Phil looks up from his phone, startled, and Dan feels the rising tide of _this guy_. Maybe he shouldn’t feel fond about Phil ignoring them and their game, maybe it’s not the endearing kind of Phil being in his own world, but Dan’s never gotten his fondness that well under control.

“Actually,” Phil says, “I’m gonna run out. It’ll just take a minute.”

The question Dan’s trying to shoot from his eyes is more or less “Really?” but Phil answers a different one.

“Tesco. There won’t be a queue.” A glitch deal, then, with this kind of urgency. Dan’s learned to appreciate them; there’s an anti-corporate edge in taking advantage of a bargain the company didn’t mean to offer. But it’s never come up with someone else around before.

“People are dying painful, blue-cube deaths,” Bryony argues.

Phil’s response is serious: “Satsumas are scanning for 5p. A whole bag. For 5p.”

Bryony looks at Dan. Great, taking sides, his favourite. “Let’s make drinks,” he suggests, “and Phil has to drink whatever we make him.”

So as Phil disappears down the lift and out into the night, Dan and Bryony find themselves in the kitchen, finishing their previous drinks a bit too fast and making Phil’s a bit too strong.

“He did need a hobby,” she says.

It’s not what Dan expects. Does he expect? (Phil’s not here to make a joke about expecting.) Maybe he’s bracing for something more… critical. 

And maybe his face is too expressive, or Bryony just knows him too well. “I’m being a good friend,” she says. “Hold onto this memory for the next time I’m a bitch.” 

“You can be both at the same time,” Dan teases. “I saw you with that drink.”

“You gave me the power. And enough alcohol to evade the responsibility.” Bryony turns from Phil’s drink to her own empty glass. “Besides, it’s strong, but no tequila because allergies, and it’s not disgusting. I’m not... the uni guy.”

“Oh god, Shplichael. You are definitely not Shplichael.” Dan watches for a minute as Bryony makes herself a drink. He tries to imagine what that guy, or any not-a-friend from Phil’s past, would think of Phil today. Not just the impressive things, the money and celebrity interviews and months in a tour bus that once was Kanye’s. And Phil was out in uni; maybe Dan himself wouldn’t come as a surprise. But what would Shplicael think of the fact that with all his success, Phil just wants to have game night with his friend and his boyfriend, and run out to Tesco for practically-free food?

Dan’s never met the guy, and he’s still trying himself to wrap his head around why Phil wants to win his groceries through a show of intellect. But he can feel himself being drawn towards his rare angry drunk side just thinking about the theoretical judgment of a theoretical asshole over a new hobby of Phil’s that definitely isn’t the weirdest thing about him.

Maybe what Dan should be wondering is whether Shplichael would still be so desperate to get Phil drunk, now that Phil is very taken. 

_Or_ he could be paying attention to Bryony, who is definitely waving a hand in front of his face.

“Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep already. When Phil’s back, we’re finishing the game.”

“No, sorry, just thinking.” Dan takes a sip of his own drink to stall on elaborating. “It’s not that I expected you to be a bitch about it.”

Bryony laughs her skepticism.

“I just thought you might… ask me to explain? Or that we’d do some good-natured eyerolling together.”

“We can eyeroll. But you’ll get too fond for me.” She’s settled against the counter, as if she belongs here as much as back at the table where they’re meant to be playing games. “It makes him happy, right?”

“It’s more like… he gets so excited, figuring out the possibilities, and there’s this feeling of accomplishment when it works out? Sometimes he feels pretty shit if it doesn’t, though.”

“Well, it’s no worse than you and Formula One,” she says. “It’s interesting, really, how complex he can make a Tesco run. Interesting, and a little ridiculous.”

“A little ridiculous,” Dan agrees.

“Just as Phil should be.” Bryony rolls her eyes a bit too deliberately, like she’s filling an eyeroll quota, undercutting her sincerity, or both. “So long as he comes back and finishes the damn game.”

*

In the months since Saitama’s meltdown, “We’re not a family of ten, Phil!” loses its meaning. Dan stops thinking about whether anyone shops this way besides Phil and mums, about what it means for a millionaire in a family of two to count couponing among his few hobbies. The space those thoughts took up in Dan’s brain is instead filled with, “where the fuck are we gonna put _that_?”

They eat enough cereal to get through it all eventually, but the family-sized boxes are too tall for their cupboards. (“If we lay them flat,” Phil argued the first time, and only the first time, “You won’t be able to say I didn’t close the cupboard.”) Phil looks at deals at Iceland, but if he goes again, they’ll need a deal on a new freezer, too, and somewhere to put it in the flat. Dan can’t deny that they’re saving a lot of money on takeaway, and sometimes there are lulls when they eat more than Phil buys, but overall, Phil’s stockpile is growing.

“We’ll be set for the zombie apocalypse,” Dan says, watching Phil stack cans of beans along the back wall of his room/set. When they moved here, Dan wouldn’t have guessed that having an extra for-appearances bedroom would come in handy in quite this way.

“Gotta be prepared,” Phil agrees, stepping back to see if the cans are stable on their own. The height is a risky choice, but they’re not crashing down… yet.

“Could get crushed before we get there, though. Unless...”

Phil sighs. “Dan…”

“_Unless_,” Dan continues, clearing his throat, “we had more storage.”

“... Dan?” The canned goods are quickly forgotten.

“Maybe somewhere with better soundproofing and a better landlord. Or… not a landlord.”

“You want to move somewhere with a spare room for groceries?”

“I’m sick of ‘em falling out of your closet, mate.”

“You love me,” Phil says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and more important than any possible revelation. “You wanna live with me and all my groceries. Forever.”

“If it’s in a place with no gas leaks, with lots of storage, no nosy neighbors, where I can be as loud as I want…”

Phil’s voice drops to match his smirk. “Yeah?”

“Then, that’s the plan.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi on [tumblr](https://templeofshame.tumblr.com/post/188254515055/bargain-day-at-the-supermarket-t-26k-phil-has-a)!


End file.
